A Tale of Four Rakhis - 4

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 1

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

I haven’t met Amu, my Bua’s son, for almost a decade now. We did exchange emails and talked over the phone, once in a while, until last year.

And then, when I announced THE decision to everybody, he stopped corresponding. His wife would write to me sometimes and tell me that Amu has been keeping very busy, but that he supports my decision. She wrote twice, he never wrote… For months. Even after the biggest day, when almost everyone in the family called me or wrote to me, Amu didn’t.

And I knew what was going on. Vira and he had always been mirror images of each other. Actually, I think it’s a thing about Men in general. It’s hard for them to see the inside before the outside. I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying they need time… and well, honestly, I’m in no hurry.

But Amu surprised me four months back. He stopped being Vira’s mirror image! He wrote to me – an email as beautiful as there can be – and not only did he apologize for being late in writing to me (he said he wanted to do justice to his thoughts and never had time enough to do that), but in fact, asked me to send him a Rakhi by all means… His closing line made my day – ‘Love you little sis’!

So, 10 days ago, when my favouritest aunt was saying to me, “That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!” because the courier guy was charging 1150 rupees for it, I decided not to argue with her. I lied to her that I would send the envelope by normal post the next day. I decided not to tell her that even if it had been 11500 rupees or more, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I had got late in sending it for various reasons, but they didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered, except for the fact that I had to ensure Amu got the Rakhi before Aug 16!

The only option was to wait for 2 more days and send the courier when I had my own money, although that meant that the delivery would happen either just on the 16^th, or a day later. I was feeling inexplicably horrible!

The next morning, when I was leaving for work, my favouritest aunt placed 1500 rupees in my palm. “If you’re convinced with what I said, then you won’t use it, but if you’re not, which I know you’re not, then you’ll definitely send the courier later. So, it’s better that you send it today, and at least achieve the purpose… I would still say it’s a humungous waste of money, but the choice is yours”.

I smiled at her. She knew what I was going to do. I hugged her. She hugged me back.

Aug 16. I kept checking my Inbox through the day, hoping to see an email from Amu, hoping to read that he did get it in time after all. I was doubtful about him writing because it was a Saturday. He never checks or writes mails on weekends. The entire day went by. As I feared, there was no mail from him…

As I was going to bed, a little before midnight, I checked mail one last time… and there it was! His three-liner email, written from his blackberry, saying that he had received my Rakhi on the 15th.

~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever the relationship, it is the little things that matter. To me, if Amu had not got the Rakhi by the 16^th, it would have lost its worth. Yes, love and relationships are not about ONE day, but then, if there IS one day to celebrate it specifically, then either you don’t value the day at all, or you live by it thoroughly. It can’t be about convenience then; it HAS to be about the day.

So, all said and done, this Rakhi, for me, was about buying Rakhis! The next one would hopefully be about tying Rakhis too! :-)

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

“That you’re my sister would take some time for my cognition” – that was Vovu, my Mama’s son, in an email almost 9 months ago. Yes, it’s quite open-ended. ‘Some time’ could be a month, a year, several years… or a lifetime.

Ever since childhood, I was the closest to Vovu amongst all my cousins. I’d still be, but somewhere along the way, and I don’t know where and why, he just distanced himself from almost every human being around him. You can’t talk to him anymore. There’s always this uncomfortable air between him and… everybody. Everytime I try to prick this balloon of discomfort, I’m forced to realize that the balloon and Vovu are not two separate entities. Yet, I do keep trying to separate them…

Three days before Rakhi, I was going to stay at Vovu’s place. My mother had asked me to deliver her Rakhi to Mama. And even though I knew it didn’t make any sense because Vovu’s ‘some time’ would probably still be going on, yet I bought a Rakhi for him – perhaps the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now!

No, I was not going to offer to tie it to him, but it’s always good to be prepared. What if he asked me to tie him one? What if, when I gave mother’s Rakhi to Mama, he asked me why I hadn’t got Vovu one? No, I’d rather not face that embarrassment! Yes yes, it’s best to be prepared!

I finished mother’s assignment. I finished the one I was assigned by Mama after that too – of delivering the money to mother. However, the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now would stay with me for ‘some time’, at least a year. But then… I’m ready for the next year! After all, it’s best to be prepared…

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

Vira was the first one in the family to support my decision. And it didn’t surprise me one bit. His tough macho exterior and grumpiness aside, I knew (know) that the real guy within is highly emotional and extremely innocent. He can’t deal with complicated situations, and he had always seen my complicated life from perhaps the closest quarters, hence his immediate reaction was – Go ahead with it!

I did go ahead, after all… In fact, I’m still going ahead! The ‘going ahead’ goes on and this process of going on has created an even more complicated situation for him.

He hadn’t expected me to take a break from Bombay and come home for this period of my life. He hadn’t thought he would have to deal with my phase of ‘being in the middle’ almost on a daily basis. And just like me, he hadn’t imagined this phase would be so long (although a year and a half is not so long after all).

And so, even when I was buying a Rakhi for him last week, I had no plans of tying it. I knew he wouldn’t be comfortable, and he wouldn’t know how to say that to me, and so, he would feel like his hands were tied… I didn’t want that.

And yet, I guess he was apprehensive that I would land in his house on the D-Day and claim my right of being his sister.

So, two days before Rakhi, when our mother asked if he would come home to take our cousin’s Rakhi, he said it loud and clear to her that he didn’t want ANY Rakhis from ANYBODY this year. “These are all pointless, unnecessary things”!

So, obviously, this ANYBODY got the point that she had never lost anyway! The pretty non-bling-y Rakhi stayed back, but on Aug 16, I did make our father deliver the cousin’s Rakhi to Vira’s place. He gets it tied every year. It should not be any different this year, just because his mind can’t acknowledge as yet, what his heart had accepted in an instant.

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 1

“That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!”

I nodded. Half-heartedly. And being my favouritest aunt, besides of course, being a woman of extraordinary sensitivity, I guess she could see the half-heart reflected on my face. So, her frustration on my ‘silliness’ mingled with a sadness for not letting me do what I so wanted to, topped with 63 years of middle-class sensibilities left quite a helpless expression on her face.

“I wouldn’t be adamant. I shouldn’t be. I’ll do this on my own, the day after, when I get my salary”. It was unfair to ask her to shell out 1150 rupees because I needed to courier a Rakhi to America, even if it was just a 2-day loan from her. It was unfair to expect her to understand what it meant to me…

~~~~~~~~~~

A year ago, I had couriered another Rakhi. On behalf of my best friend. To her brother. Rem was studying in the US, and she was atrociously late in posting the Rakhi to her brother in India. So, she had called me up two days before the festival and asked me to do her the favour.

That evening, I travelled from one shop to the next and the next and the countless nexts, spending a good few minutes at each shop, but I just couldn’t settle on a Rakhi. Most of them were rather bling-y – and I have always hated too much bling in everything in life. Most others were quite sad – the singly thread-y ones did not evoke a happy festival-ish feeling. Besides they did not seem to symbolize the ‘unbreakable’ bond…

I hadn’t realized exactly how many shopkeepers I must have left cursing me, until it dawned on me that it was dusk. Bulbs glowed bright, hanging right above the Rakhis spread out on the pavements, in the stalls, in the shops. And it was then that I also realized that my feet felt sore, my legs had a feverish pain in them, and my throat was dry. I had been out shopping for one Rakhi for more than three hours. I wasn’t exactly satisfied with the one I chose finally, but it sure was the best of the lot.

Another half an hour, and the couriers would send today’s dispatch away. I was new in the Mahim area and still had to figure the location of a good courier. As I ran from pillar to post asking for DTDC, Overnite and the likes, and as I finally found one and begged the guy to give me 5 minutes to put the address on the envelope with a pretty colour and in my best handwriting, I acknowledged to myself the real reason behind my taking so long in this whole activity…

I was not doing it for Rem. I was doing it for myself – for the two decades behind me when I couldn’t, when it was not RIGHT for me to do it…

And I thought it was only right for me to write what I eventually wrote on the envelope:

"On behalf of Rem... From Monsoon"

It's Amusing...

~ when the guy you shared the hostel room with (for 2 years) – the guy who also happens to be your best friend – finds it necessary to tell you, “You can’t go out wearing THAT! The neck is too damn low!”

~ when the random guy in the bus who, one year ago, would have trod upon you to find his way in the crazy chaos, bows most courteously; and just when you’re wondering if he’s upto ‘something’, you realize that he’s only lifting your bag to place it on the bag carrier.

~ to see that exceptional look of disbelief on the visage of a man who is known to have seen the world, been-there-done-that; and just as you notice him stealing a furtive glance at you, to realize that he hadn’t after all, seen it all… that you’re a new Wonder to him!

~ to get to know that your friend’s girlfriend who had been so fond of you, now gets worked up whenever he talks to her about you.

~ when your mother asks you to not show up in the drawing room, in front of the guests who’re in India looking for a tall beautiful bride for their NRI son… “What if they see you and get interested? How will I explain?”

~ when an old flame, which is still dying hard, tells you that he has checked your latest orkut pictures a zillion times… because well… “you look pretty”! [Ha ha ha]

~ when a girl you’ve been introduced to, just an hour ago, drives you to the restroom desperately and asks you to check for her if ‘it is all fine’, and you’re trying hard to NOT make a mistake in checking.

~ when a forgotten acquaintance turns up from nowhere, straining hard as he looks at you, and when out of a desire to make him comfortable, you smile a recognition, he exclaims, “Are you not Summer? But then… Summer was not a girl!”

~ that the interiors of your house are just as they always were, that the locality hasn’t changed either, yet the new paint outside has brought out a new shade in every other house in the locality.

I met a Man...

He must be half my height!

Alright, exaggeration!
Correction: He must be a little more than half my height.
Age: No more than 23 years would be my guess.
A calm in his eyes turns his otherwise seemingly ordinary face into a captivating sight.
His bright orange shirt tends to make him look darker than he actually is.
And something about the whole air around him tends to make him (much) taller than he actually is.

As I sat alone at McDonald’s today, waiting for my friend R and his friend D, I thought there were a couple of pairs of eyes which kept screening me from time to time (for whatever reasons). That got confirmed when R & D entered, and I waved at R. The curious couples of pairs of eyes turned most apparently in their direction to know who the awaited was. And no sooner had they seen the 2 guys that their faces registered a most obvious expression of amusement.

I happen to be taller than R and D. They’re the kind of guys who have a boy-like quality about them as against man-like (this quality also includes as one of its facets, what they must be doing as they read this – Hating it!). And I’m the kind of girl who has a woman-like quality about her however much she might try to be girl-like. [Quick EFT: Even though I seem like a mature woman, I choose to feel like a young girl ;-)]

McDonald’s was apparently not the best of places for the kind of conversation I’d have liked to have with D. R, showing as much brightness as D’s orange shirt, pointed this out and consequently, drove us to a more peaceful and spacious place, albeit a bit far.

And so, in between crunchy bites of Aloo Tikki Chat and fishing for the Chilli Cauliflower in the pool of onion and tomato dressing, I got to catch small pieces from D’s rather unusual trip on his life journey. His story could actually be straight out of a movie, just that nobody would make that movie in India, for it would challenge every milligram of ‘our culture and sensibility’ right from ‘masses’ to ‘classes’.

The boyish D is a married man. His sweetheart of eight years is now his lawfully wedded wife. And their love seems nowhere near the fizzle-out phase. Their cell phones are their lifelines. And they, clearly, are each other’s lives.

The twist, however, is that D and his wife, even though they’re in the same city, don’t live together. Her family is not aware that she is married. His family is, but they couldn’t care less about anything to do with him anymore. He doesn’t live with them either.

Her family, when they had discovered about their relationship a few years ago, had been scandalized, and she had been barred from keeping in touch with him. They still live under a happy misconception that she has no contact with him whatsoever – he, who is actually now her husband.

6 days from now… they’re going to celebrate their first anniversary. D has been thinking the time to be ripe for the indispensable revelation to her family. I don’t notice a frown on his face as he says or thinks about it. However, I can feel deep burrows on my own forehead.

Aren’t you scared? – I ask him. There are countless instances of couples being made to go through hell for going against their family’s wishes. Sometimes even killed. (Touch wood). D’s is anyway such an unusual affair. Why can’t I see fear on his face? He brushes away the question as he bites into a cauliflower – “Whatever has to happen will happen. What’s the point in being scared? We’ll see what happens”.

At that instant, I ask myself – Is this guy a fool? Or is he too carefree? Shouldn’t he at least be scared for the girl he loves? What if some trouble falls upon her? I can’t stop myself from asking him this last question. And his expression changes instantly.

“Of course I worry for her. But then, is there an alternative except facing it? And if we have to do that anyway, what’s the point in being worried endlessly about it now? We’ll die when it’s written for us to die. And there’ll be no changing that”.

It is now that I notice his eyes. Besides the peace that pervades his entire persona, there is an unmistakable reflection in them of something that can only be – Courage. His whole story is that of courage. He hasn’t had it easy in life. A number countable on fingers, in the name of ‘family’; and that too, just for the name’s sake. Decades of being trapped, of being hopeless. Mountainous days still lying ahead of him. And despite all that (or maybe because of it), he is the bravest person sitting on this table right now.

Not only because it must have taken him an immense amount of strength to live for years and years in a body that was not even his own.
Not only because he would have had to endure countless days of being taunted and laughed at for being a tomboy.
Not only because he chose his own body last year with nobody in the world except his now-wife waiting for the news from the operation theatre.
Not only because he has the courage to take head-on whatever comes his way on this path of love, even though he might not have the physical strength for it.

But most above all, because he has fought with and won over the demons that lived inside him… something that most ordinary inhabitants of this planet struggle to do until their last breath.

I salute you, D. And even though I haven’t met her, I salute your wife.

A Most Pregnant Issue

A man chooses to become pregnant! A feat biologically impossible, Thomas Beatie has been aided by Mother Nature in the fulfillment of his desire. How? Well, he happened to be born female. Amidst billions of raised eyebrows, endless cries of ‘Freak!’, ‘Blasphemy!’ and much worse name-calling, protests and even attempts of physical harm to the expectant father, Thomas has chosen to do what no man (whether trans or not) would have the guts to do!

Here’s what I wrote about the matter at an online group I am a member of…

I have wanted to write on this issue for some time now, but I wanted to see the video of the much-hyped Oprah show first, and I managed to find time to do that yesterday. I watched it here

Firstly, what matters the most in this entire scenario - the baby. The most important thing in the nurturing of any child is love and care. In my experience and observation, I have seen that every child, while growing up, finds his or her own set of problems and also, along the journey, discovers the strengths within him/herself or in the world around him/herself to be able to deal with them. How much ever a parent might want to protect their child, there is no way you can shield them from sorrow completely. It's a different point altogether that dealing with problems makes one a stronger and more mature individual. So, the bottomline, according to me, is that problems WOULD come because they're meant to, but what a child really needs is a parent who is right there behindhim/her with the reassurance that Hey! If that seems too hard for you, I'm right here - ready to hold you if you fall. Thomas Beatie doesn't look like a man who wouldn't do that. In fact, he comes across as a very sensitive man to me - one of the most important traits we all look for in our fathers.

Thomas has been off hormones for some time now, which is why I guess the feminine seemed slightly stronger in him at the show; however, in the older clippings from home video, his appearance was certainly more masculine. Now, I know that all that hardly matters, but I also know that it's a fact that even a few amongst us look for 'the ideal' in atransman / transwoman. I've had to check myself doing that sometimes and have hated myself for it. After all, 'Perfect' is only a word, because it can never take a human form. It's unfortunate that our world loves to categorize people on the basis of their common imperfections, forgetting along the way, that the only way to a Perfect World is to bring all imperfections together rather than separate them.

So, Thomas is certainly not perfect. But his imperfections in my eyes may be different from the ones you see. While I felt his and Nancy's poses with an exposed belly were unnecessary, you might feel that the whole thing of coming out on Oprah itself was unnecessary.

However, I happen to see the latter as a step towards a new awakening, a new consciousness. Let's not forget that when the media had started covering homosexualand transgender cases/issues, the reactions had been as acidic and those of as much or more disgust as they are now over the 'Pregnant Man'. All the same, somewhere, at least in some small corners of the world, it HAS made a difference. If everybody chooses to not speak out (of course, it's a very personal choice and must be respected most deeply), the world would remain where it is - segregated. Don't we all want a better world? A new world? However far that dream might be today, isn't it worth trying for?

Having a biological child is Thomas' right and at the same time, being identified as male is his right too. Just because these two rights in his case bring up a situation which is unusual in the eyes of the uninitiated, does not mean his rights can be belied, or that he should be denied proper medical care by no less than 9 different doctors.

Now, there's one point that a lot of people raise which I find the hardest to believe... That THIS – what Thomas is going through - is something that a lot of people would have done quietly (and that that’s the way it should be done too). Personally, I don't think so. Yes, it's 'very easy' and whoever wants to do it, CAN apparently go and do it in Virginia, but according to me, it would take an immense will power and an uncanny ability to strike off an image of 'ideal' that almost every transperson remains stuck with. To identify as a 'man' and at the same time, be ready to carry their baby and yet convince oneself (not the world) that they are and would be the father of the child, be ready to answer or ignore endless questions for all times to come - is a Herculean task.

The question is NOT about its being easy or difficult, right or wrong. If you ask me, it's as right as right can be, because it's HIS right to choose. The question is about one's ability to break the shackles of the convention, the norm, the ideal, the Perfect. Before my Sex Reassignment Surgery, when my mother had urged me to save my sperm in a sperm bank for some time in life when I might wish to have my biological offspring, I had battled with the idea for so long. My heart ached to see a child some day who would have come out of my own self... and yet, finally, I decided against it because I remained stuck with 'what is normal'. I couldn't get myself to believe that I would be the mother of thechild, and that was that.

Thomas, apparently, has dealt with that turmoil and come out so beautifully successful. I can only feel pride and respect for him.

Coming back to what a lot of people think. Now, even if such cases were not to be that rare, I think that's all the more reason for at least somebody to speak out on behalf of all those who would be going through a similar struggle with the medical community, refusing to look after them and their baby. That makes Thomas' coming out even more meaningful.

'Advertise' is not such a bad thing, after all. Don't we see a thousand and one public service advertisements everyday? Advertising is about making aware, and projecting the goodness. Let's not use it in a derogatory sense.

I heard on the show that the transgender community itself has not been supportive of Thomas. Honestly, it disturbed me a lot... because what it really means is that we are no different from the others who tell US what is right and what is wrong. When we tell THEM - "It's my life and let the choice lie with me", we're speaking just for ourselves but then, soon enough, we're ready to segregate our own small little community (if I may call it so) on the basis of the norms of 'right' and 'wrong' borrowed from the same peoples who've segregated 'us' from 'the rest'.

Hello... Kaun?

{My first blog ever! And I'm going to start with my favourite topic - ME!}

A least-expected encounter... with a person whose existence makes (?used to make?) not an iota of a difference in my life... a situation that I was completely unprepared for; although now in hindsight, I wonder - how could I have been unprepared? Being who I am, I should have been ready for one of these days for eternity now... I should have played and replayed the scene in the rehearsal room of my mind for N number of times, but the fact of the matter is that this morning, when Papa was out to play tennis, Mamma was in to take a bath, and I was just entering the house after my not-so-regular round of weight-control exercise, the scene was laid out in front of me like a bolt from the sky, and here I was enacting it - no rehearsals, no script, not even a visible co-actor!

The phone started ringing - it sounded like a Long Distance call - the ones I've been avoiding ever since October, 2007 - for who knows which long-lost family member that might be. The near and dear ones all know about me by now, of course, but if it's a long-lost one, then I'd rather not be the one to say "Hello.." and get into the complications of explaining who I was (?am?). Today, however, I had been cornered! Of the three choices normally available for answering a call in this house, two had 'NA' written beside them. The Perfect Trap! The Perfect Timing! The Perfect Plan!

"Hello", I said, placing the receiver next to my sweating cheek.

"Hello... Kaun?", said a male voice at the other end.
{"Hello... Who's that?"}

I hate people who do that! Call up and ask who the OTHER person is! Without letting out any hint about who THEY are. I’m normally not very courteous to this variety of human beings, but this once, I thought I knew who this was.

Ours is a Punjabi speaking household, and I could make out that the person on the other end was a Hindi speaking gentleman. Must be Rakesh, I thought - Papa's Sunday-car-cleaner - he's the only Hindi speaking man we know who would call on the landline… or so I thought!

"Rakesh... Main Monsoon"
{"Rakesh, it's me... Monsoon"}

And there was a pause - not long, but long enough for me to know that this was anybody but Rakesh!

"Monsoon Kaun?", said the man.
{"Monsoon who?"}

Oh God!

It was definite now – this wasn’t Rakesh… and how was I supposed to tell him who Monsoon was? But wait a second; even I didn’t know who HE was!

"Aap kaun baat kar rahe hain?", I tried to sound calm, but I still think he would’ve heard my insides banging themselves.
{"May I know who's calling?"}

"Main Agra se bol raha hoon - T!"
{"I'm speaking from Agra - I'm T"}

Oh Goddd!!!

This was it – the last man I would have liked to be speaking to at that instant – any instant, for that matter – and here I was, wondering – What am I going to DO? But my mind had registered a blackout already and my tongue must have assumed a frozen shape mid-air.

At this point, I think, it would be necessary to give an introduction to the man who had shocked me out of my senses this morning. T – Uncle – who stays in Agra with a wife and three daughters is one of Papa’s two and only friends. Papa hangs out with a lot of people – colleagues, tennis mates and the likes, but somewhere, all of them would tend to become baggages to his back. T Uncle and B Uncle were, are and would always be cushions. I’ve never had to interact much with either of them, since their friendships date back to their youth days; for the entire duration of my existence, I’ve only seen them keep in virtual touch over the phone or in rare moments of real touch through hugs and pats at big occasions like my brother’s wedding.

No wonder, then, that Papa had to tell T Uncle all about me. Despite being a carefree and living-for-the-moment kind of a Daddy, this wasn’t all that easy for him. But now that the magazine was out, he thought it would be simpler to let T Uncle read the magazine first and then, talk to him. And so, without giving him any kind of a hint whatsoever, Papa had asked his best (?do you really have a best between two?) friend to buy the magazine, read it, and then call him back.

It was the last part of the task assigned to him that T Uncle was performing this morning, and look at his luck! He had caught hold of the very subject of this whole exercise. Though, I think, he hadn’t realized that as yet…

“Hellooo?”, that was T Uncle, following a most uncomfortable pause at my end.

“Er…”, I had to speak. I’m not one of those who would disconnect the line, because that’s running away. I was not going to run away… “Uncle, Papa tennis khelne gaye hue hain. Wo aayenge, to main unhe bata doongi ke aapka phone tha”.
{“Uncle, Papa has gone to play tennis. When he comes, I’ll let him know that you had called”}

I was praying that he would leave it at that. Would he? Take a guess!

You guessed right!

“Par main samjha nahin – Monsoon kaun?”
{“But I didn’t understand – Monsoon who?”}

Oh GODDDD!!!

What am I to do now? What do I tell him? And how? I felt so angry at Papa. This was HIS job! Why should I have to face this? I don’t even care who T Uncle from Agra is. To me, he’s as important as the aliens. Oh come on! I’ve already done my bit. I’ve told and explained to everybody who matters to ME. Why, all over again NOW?

I was still mulling what to say, when I suddenly felt the urge to kill him! He had said –

“Unka bada ladka?”
{“His elder son?”}

Nobody, I repeat, NOBODY, has ever mistaken me for a guy over the phone! I hated him at that moment, but I hate myself much more for saying what I did, after that… because it was a lie.

“Nahin Uncle… chhota”
{“No Uncle… younger”}

The last word was almost not spoken… it was just a whispered mumble, but he caught it! To his credit, T Uncle from Agra has fairly sharp ears. His response was even sharper –

“Oh, achha achha! To tumhaara hi to ye magazine padh raha hoon main abhi!”
{“Oh, okay okay! So, this is your magazine only that I’m reading!”}

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

Of course! So now that the mystery is solved, would you please leave me alone?

He didn’t.

“Achha… to matlab… ye batao, ke ye tumne kyun kar liya?”
{“Okay… So, I mean… tell me, why did you do this?”}

I couldn’t BELIEVE this! I just couldn’t! I mean, why would somebody ask me that question after having read the magazine? Trust me, I couldn’t explain it over the phone better than what’s there in that! But then, I remembered that he had said that he was READING the magazine. So, obviously, he had been so taken over by the magnitude of the shock that he had called up his best friend even without finishing the read.

“Uncle, aap magazine padh lijiye na. Maine usmein likha hai sab kuchh”
{“Uncle, please read the magazine. I’ve written everything in that”}

“Haan, nahin wo to theek hai, par matlab… ab tum kaisa feel kar rahe ho?”
{“Yeah, that’s okay, but I mean… how do you feel now?”}

Honestly, I didn’t even get that question! I would have loved to ask in the signature way one of my best friends asks – Whaddoyumeeen?

“Achha feel kar rahi hoon Uncle” – that’s typical me. The good girl!
{“I feel good Uncle”}

“Nahin, matlab… ab… to phir tum… kya ho?”
{“No, I mean… so… now… what are you?”}

That question, stand-alone, robs the enquired of their identity as a human being. However, I’d like to believe T Uncle didn’t mean it that way. His mind was just too boggled to realize what he was saying or asking, although if he could read English, all he needed to do was READ THE DAMN MAGAZINE!

“Female hoon Uncle”
{“Female Uncle”}

“To matlab… ab tumhaare jo saare functions wagarah hain body ke – wo sab Female ki tarha hain?”
{“So, you mean… now all your functions etc of the body – are like a Female’s?”}

I wished he’d get to the point… because that’s what everybody asks, and mostly, that’s ALL that anybody asks – Can you get pregnant?

“Uncle, body ke external parts sab change ho jaate hain, lekin internal parts change nahin hote”
{“Uncle, the external parts of the body change, but the internal organs can’s be changed”}

“Nahin, to matlab… jo ladies ke sab haarmones wagarah hote hain body mein, wo sab ab tumhaare andar available hain?” – He meant periods! But I was not going to read between the lines any more.
{“No, I mean… the hormones etc that ladies have – are all those available in your body?”}

“Hormones externally lene padte hain Uncle”
{“Hormones have to be taken externally Uncle”}

He didn’t get it! I don’t think he did. He paused for a bit, and then, got to the point. Remember? THE POINT!

“Achha… Par jo ladies ke internal parts hote hain… matlab… bachchedaani kehte hain jisko, wo hai ab tumhaare andar?”
{“Okay… But ladies’ internal parts… I mean… what we call a womb, do you have that?”}

Can you bloody get PREGNANT or not?

“Nahin Uncle… Bachchedaani nahin daal sakte body mein. Externally sab kuchh change ho jaata hai, lekin bachche nahin ho sakte!”
{“No Uncle… A womb can’t be created in the body. Externally, everything changes, but one can’t have children!”}

That settled it for him! And there was a definitive disapproval in his tone –

“To phir tum mujhe ye batao… ke tumko iska fayda kya hua?”
{“So then you tell me this… that what is the use of this?”}

MCP! Papa’s friend and all that! But EMM CEE PEE!!!

“Uncle, agar aapko lagta hai ke aurat ka kaam sirf bachche paida karna hi hai, tab to aapke hisaab se koi fayda nahin hoga! Lekin mere liye apni sahi identity mein apni life jeena zaroori tha…”
{“Uncle, if you think that the only job a woman has, is to make children, then you wouldn’t see any use in it! But for me, it was important to live my life in my real identity…”}

I didn’t even see the point in going on. The man at the other end was not the right audience for this kind of speech. At least, not yet. With time, maybe, he would improve. I’d like to think he would – since he’s MY Papa’s friend! But as of now, he was quite bent upon proving otherwise…

“Nahin beta… to tum mujhe ye batao… ke ab agar tumhaari marriage hogi, to?”
{“No child… you tell me this… that now if you get married, then?”}

Whaddoyumeeen?

“To?”
{“Then?”}

“Matlab, marriage to male se hi hogi na?”
{“I mean, you’ll get married to a male, no?”}

“Agar hogi, to haan!”
{“If it happens, then yes!”}

“Haan, to PHIR?”
{“Yeah! So then?”}

OH GODDDD!!!!!!

He was back to THE POINT. “To Phir” meant – so, the kids?

“Uncle, bohot saare log hote hain jinke bachche nahin ho paate”
{“Uncle, there are many people who can’t have kids”}

“Aur unmein se ek tum ban jaoge?”
{“And you’ll become one of them?”}

“Aur phir wo log bachche adopt bhi karte hain”
{“And then, those people adopt children”}

“Haan, nahin wo to tum bohot achhi baat kar rahe ho bete… par matlab… ab tumhe achha lag raha hai ke tumne ye kiya?”
{“Yes… No, I agree that’s a good thought, child… but I mean… do you feel good, after having done this?”}

Finally, he was off the most favourite topic of most people!

“Obviously Uncle… Bohot khush hoon!”
{“Obviously Uncle… I’m very happy!”}

“Nahin, matlab… tumhaari pehle jo life thi aur ab jo life hai, to tumhe lagta hai tumne sahi kiya?”
{“No, I mean… what your life was and what it is now, do you think you did the right thing?”}

“Pehle ki life to bohot buri thi Uncle, isiliye to…”
{“My earlier life was really bad Uncle, that’s why…”}

“Nahin, tum mujhe ye batao ke kya bura tha? Tumhe problem kya thi us life mein?”
{“No, you tell me – what was bad? What was your problem with that life?”}

You can’t blame me for being at my wit’s end! You just can’t!

“Uncle ye sab us magazine mein likha hua hai! Aap please use padh lijiye… Mere liye bohot mushkil hai aise aapko samjhaana”
{“Uncle all this is written in that magazine! You please read that… It’s very difficult for me to explain to you like this”}

I was rude, and that’s something he hadn’t been throughout the conversation – at least never meant to be.

“Nahin, dekho bete… Maine tumhe godi mein khilaaya hai…”
{“No, see child… You’ve played in my lap…”}

I don’t even remember my own parents’ laps… And T Uncle from Agra claiming my erstwhile right on his, was tad amusing. Yet, I refused to encourage this sentimental trip!

“Wo theek hai Uncle, par abhi to itne saalon se hamara koi contact bhi nahin hai. Mere liye ye conversation bohot uncomfortable hai. Mujhe lagta hai main pata nahin kise samjhaane ki koshish kar rahi hoon, aur pata nahin kyun. Aap please Papa se hi baat kar lijiyega. Wo aayenge to main unhe bata doongi”
{“That’s alright Uncle, but for so many years now, there’s been no contact between us. This conversation is very uncomfortable for me. I feel I don’t even know who I’m trying to explain all this to, and why. You please talk to Papa. I’ll let him know when he comes back”}

But he was not going to give up.

“Dekho bete… Main bhi tumhaara Papa hi hoon. Jaise wo tumhaare Papa hain na, main bhi ek Papa hoon. Maine tumhe apni godi mein khilaaya hai bachche!”
{“See child… I’m also your Papa. Just like he is your Papa, I’m also one Papa. You’ve played in my lap child!”}

Hmmm… Perhaps I had been too rude…

“Ji Uncle, par aap please wo magazine hi padh lijiye. Aapko usse samajh mein aa jaayega”
{“Yes Uncle, but you please read the magazine. You’ll be able to understand better”}

“Haan, magazine to main padh loonga… Par tum ab mujhe ye batao ke tumhaare Mummy Papa ne accept kar liya hai?”
{“Yeah, I’ll read the magazine… But now you tell me – Have your Mummy Papa accepted it?”}

Finally, a question that I could happily answer!

“Ji Uncle… Mummy Papa bohot khush hain… Meri poori family, sabhi relatives bohot khush hain”
{“Yes Uncle… Mummy Papa are very happy… My entire family, all my relatives are very happy”}

And suddenly, he surprised me with an unexpected excitement in his voice!

“Arre waah, phir theek hai! TUMHAARI MUMMY KHUSH HAI NA?”
{“Oh great, then it’s alright! YOUR MUMMY IS HAPPY, RIGHT?”}

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Ji Uncle, Mummy khush hain”
{“Yes Uncle, Mummy is happy”}

“Bas phir theek hai! Agar tumhaari Mummy khush hai, to main bohot khush hoon!”
{“Then it’s fine! If your Mummy is happy, then I’m very happy!”}

How I wish he’d asked me that question in the beginning!

“To dekho beta… main tumhe invite kar raha hoon. Tum yahaan aao, Mummy ko saath le kar aao, aur hamaare saath raho kuchh din”
{“So now, my child… I’m inviting you. You come here, bring Mummy along, and stay with us for a few days”}

He didn’t even invite his friend! What’s with him and my Mummy, huh???

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

“Aur apne Papa ko bolna mujhe phone karenge. Theek hai?”
{“And ask your Papa to call me. Okay?”}

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

“Achha beta… Bye beta”
{“Okay… Bye child”}

“Bye Uncle”

And hence, there was no love lost between T Uncle and me… none at my end, at least. It wasn’t exactly one of the best beginnings for a day, and even though I know there might be many more such beginnings to come, I absolutely love my life for at least one reason. Later in the day when I narrated the entire episode to Papa and Mamma, our threesome could laugh and joke about each sentence exchanged between me and T Uncle from Agra.

Yes, it wasn’t exactly the best start for my day, but it certainly was a preparation for one of those long-distance calls which would have some long-lost relative on the other end, the one who would not even have an inkling about the magazine. Now that I’ve lost my ‘virginity’, I’m all set to take on the next one… asking –

“Hello… Kaun?”